A Sealed Destiny
by MissWitchx
Summary: A/U Oneshot. Despite Narcissa's best efforts she is unable to save Draco from the fate that his name has sealed for him. Whilst being raised by Muggles alters some parts of Draco's school life it does little to affect the big picture once he finds out who he really is. "Actually I think it's you who's like them. They've changed you, Draco..."


**A/N: **I don't own Harry Potter, all rights to JKR. I just own the plot and the cover image.

When you are reading this, I ask you to keep an open mind! Some OOC-ness will be there, particularly at the start (it was kind of necessary for the whole idea and AU backstory). Thank you!

Word count without A/N: 4,409

**[Just skip to the** **story**]

**Written for: Character Re-raising Project **[Draco raised by Muggles]; **Fave House Bootcamp **["I wish I could obliviate the memories of us"]; **World Challenge **[Amber: Write about a major personality change]; **Lyric One-shot Challenge** ["cheer up and dry your damp eyes and tell me when it rains, and I'll blend up that rainbow above you and shoot it through your veins" - Owl City & "I still press your letters to my lips, and cherish them in parts of me that savour every kiss" - Slipknot]; **Eurovision Comp **[Germany: Write about someone making a wrong choice/ write about someone who thinks they should be in a different house. I used both prompts]; **Create Your Mandala Comp **[colourful, Mother Earth, destiny, enigma, experience, serene, karma, epiphany, yogi, transcendent, existence, an intense friendship/ relationship, a line about trust, ecstasy, inner peace, someone being dedicated, scene about compassion, meaning of pure, meaning of integrity, someone's death, "what is the meaning of life without you?", meaning of enlightened, mysticism, meditation, personal memory - a friend cutting me out]

Phew! ... I'll get onto the story now :)

* * *

**A Sealed Destiny**

"_You often meet your fate on the road you take to avoid it." _

_- Goldie Hawn_

**1981**

Dedication. That is what made Narcissa step foot into a Muggle suburb, and it is what compelled her to run through the dark streets like a discomposed fool. If she weren't so dedicated to the tiny bundle in her arms, her priority would naturally be to keep up her serene façade that she had been forced to hide behind for so many years.

In an instant all of the lessons of her upbringing were cast aside, and all for the bundle; for her son. Her Draco. If push came to shove during the War, she would most certainly have died for him. Every day for sixteen months she was terrified that the Dark Lord would use him as a mechanism to punish them should Lucius ever fail a mission. Narcissa was always prepared to protect Draco as though her very existence commanded it. Thankfully, she was never backed into such a corner, but her vigilance never wavered.

The War was over. The Dark Lord was gone.

But who really knew that for sure?

A memory flashed by Narcissa's eyes. It was a vivid and colourful image; an appalling contrast to the horrors it theorised. "The Dark Lord will rise again, Crouch," her sister Bella screeched moments before she was sentenced to Azkaban.

That was when Narcissa was hit with the cruel epiphany that she couldn't allow her son to become involved with this again. If there were to be a next time – Merlin forbid – _he_ would surely return stronger. She didn't know if the Aurors would come for her. Throw her in a cell with her husband. She couldn't take the chance of leaving Draco alone and vulnerable in this unpredictable world. Not when he was still so pure; completely unmixed by any prejudices or paths that have tainted so many others; herself included.

The world was a cruel place when the best thing a mother can do for their son was to let him go. Let him grow up without knowing her or who he really is because it's the best thing for him.

After forcing herself to judge the situation with a rational outlook, Narcissa become enlightened that it was only way to give him the best chance of escaping the destiny that his name sealed for him. And that's why she couldn't risk leaving Draco in the care of Andromeda either; she was a Black at birth, as was Narcissa. If the Dark Lord were to return, he'd want a larger following than before, and who better to recruit than a boy with the name Malfoy – the son of a Malfoy and a Black?

Narcissa stopped. She had reached the Muggle orphanage. Only when she put her baby down on the steps outside did the heavens open and Mother Earth wept along with her. She kissed the top of Draco's blond head, leaving him with nothing more than a letter to the owners of the dank establishment.

Apparating home, the Aurors were already waiting for her. Narcissa went with them without question.

_Be brave Draco_, she thought as she was taken away.

* * *

**1991**

If there was one thing eleven year-old Draco knew about himself, it was that he was a Muggleborn. He knew nothing about Hogwarts or spells or any other weird and wonderful entities that may exist in this new realm. He felt privileged to be able to experience it, unlike anyone else he knew, including his parents.

He was eager to find out more about the wizarding world, and viewed every new thing with a wide-eyed innocence. He gasped in awe at the moving photographs in magazines and scrunched up his face in frightful excitement as he hurled himself at a supposedly solid wall before laughing in glee when no harm came to him. However, upon seeing the bustling Platform 9 ¾ for the first time, he felt suddenly nervous, and like an outsider; a late-comer to the amusement park everyone seemed to have been to several times before. They'd know the best rides to go on and which would have the longest waiting time; they'd know the best places to eat and the arcade games that were easiest to win. And Draco knew... well, nothing.

What the heck would he talk to anyone about? How would he make friends?

He'd had friends in his Muggle school, but he never did fit in for some reason. He was that child who was more on the outside of the invisible bubble looking in at his classmates than an active member of the community. In hindsight his inability to fit in could come down to the fact that he never really belonged there. He was a wizard, and he belonged at Hogwarts.

But somehow he thought being different in this world wasn't such a good thing.

And he was right. Another Muggleborn, Hermione Granger, was referred to as a 'Mudblood' by a dark-haired girl with a squashed up face on the train ride to Hogwarts. Draco didn't know what the word meant but by Hermione's reaction he assumed it to be a reference to her – their – blood status. Draco stood up for her because she was like him. She understood him.

He sneered at the squashed up girl and handed Hermione a handkerchief. He told her to cheer up and dry her damp eyes. And therein lay the foundation of their friendship.

He didn't feel like such an outsider when Hermione was around. She didn't judge him like the squashed up girl judged her; she made him feel like he _belonged_. They laughed together and bonded over their Muggle upbringings and enthusiasm about this new world they had been introduced to, and very soon they began to stand up for each other when anyone would make a derogatory comment.

This was the first time Draco ever experienced such trust with someone who wasn't family. In fact the feeling was so intense that to him that it was borderline transcendent. Hermione just rolled her eyes and told him to stop over-exaggerating.

If Draco was sure about anything about her, it was that she was smart. Despite being a stranger to the magical world too, she already had knowledge that Draco assumed would vastly exceed some of the Half-Blood and Pureblood children. It was legitimately transcendent, and this time Hermione couldn't argue.

"Hawthorn wands are said to be best suited to owners who have a conflicting nature," she would recite like a human Encyclopaedia.

It was good that she could fill Draco in a little about the school and the classes, but he always had some kind of underlying annoyance at feeling like he was weak and stupid in comparison. Despite this Hermione would always soon remind him what he loved most about her; she had strong moral principles, and so never hesitated to be brutally honest about anything. That integrity and sharp tongue of hers always did make for good banter. Draco would forever remain disappointed that they couldn't spend more time together since the sorting hat had ruthlessly separated them.

If Draco knew anything about Slytherin house – thanks to Hermione – it was that Muggleborns were never sorted there - so why was _he_? It made no sense; both of his parents were Muggles. The day of Draco's sorting was the day he realised that life wasn't fair. Just as he had made a true friend, she was ripped away.

The prejudiced squashed up girl was a poor replacement to Hermione, and Draco found himself being the outsider once again.

"Your house will be like your family," the Professors told them.

_What kind of family would abandon you and treat you like an outcast? _

Draco asked himself this question every day that went by, especially as his Slytherin classmates came up with even more absurd ways of getting a rise out of him as the years went on.

"For the last time, I don't know who the hell that is!" he shouted in anger when an old clipping from _The Prophet_ of some Death Eater was shoved under his nose for the umpteenth time.

Their response was always the same. "But he really looks like you."

"No he doesn't!" Draco retorted. He refused to consider the possibility that he could be related to Lucius Malfoy - a Death Eater; member of a group of people who practically thrived in ecstasy of murdering Muggles and Muggleborns – people like _him._

It seemed like some twisted joke. If there was anything remotely Slytherin about him when he first started at Hogwarts, it was that he was proud, and that made Draco blind to the fact that in these instances, his housemates were deadly serious.

To begin with he took all of the insults and mockery on the chin, but with each snarky comment he would start to bite back. He became more cynical. He became like one of _them_. And it was this that caused his friendship with Hermione to come crashing down.

Hermione was the only person who he could turn to when he was upset. She was the rock that kept him sane and supported, and that never changed, not even when she would go gallivanting around forbidden areas with The Boy Who Lived and that ginger kid. She always was and always would be _Draco's_ best friend.

One day in his fifth year, Draco stole the offensive _Prophet_ clipping and presented it to her.

"I mean, how could they possibly suggest that I could be related to that bastard?" he demanded with a frown that now seemed like a permanent feature of his face. "It's bloody sick! I'm telling you, next time one of them interrogates me about this I'm going to hex their damn-."

"Draco…" she sighed. "They do have a point."

Draco's mouth hung open and his eyes flared dangerously. "What?"

"Sorry," Hermione said, chewing her lip in a way that Draco felt more and more endeared to every day. "But just _really_ look at the picture. His face has the same bone structure as yours, not to mention he's doing that eyebrow-arch thing that you're always doing, and-."

Draco scoffed. "I can't believe you. You're supposed to be on my side. _We_ are supposed to support each other!"

"I _am_ on your side!" Hermione stood up and grabbed his arm to stop him from walking away. He had such a short fuse these days, and she wasn't sure if she liked that or not. She felt like she was losing him, and he was losing himself.

"No you're not," Draco snapped stubbornly. "You're just like them."

Hermione bristled and folded her arms, releasing him. "Actually I think it's you who's like them. They've changed you, Draco. You used to be so patient and kind-."

"Well try living amongst a group of people who won't let you walk across a room without insulting you and see how bloody patient you'd be after almost five years!" Draco sneered at her and turned to walk away.

"Where are you going?"

"Away from you," Draco shouted behind him.

His heart was racing; how could this be happening? How could he be losing Hermione too? Who did he have left?

No one.

Maybe that was why he caved after another month of the same old theories about Lucius Malfoy. The idea had been shoved down his throat so much that he almost started to believe it, especially after Hermione had admitted that there was some resemblance between them.

As much as Draco hated to admit it, it made sense that he could be related to this Death Eater; he had to have some magical heritage somewhere to be sorted into Slytherin. But at the same time, he hated Hermione for even suggesting that it could be true. She was always right, and that's what worried Draco so much. He couldn't allow her to be right about this, too.

Sure enough, his worst nightmare was realised when he sought out his head of house, Professor Snape. Only it was much worse than he imagined. Not only was he related to Lucius Malfoy, he was his _son._ His bloody _son._ It didn't help one bit that that was just the tip of the iceberg. Each revelation hit him like the Cruciatus Curse; becoming increasingly more painful and devastating.

He had been brought up to believe that he was a Muggleborn when all this time he was a Pureblood.

He had been ridiculed and made to feel like he didn't belong in Slytherin house for no reason. Hell, the Malfoy family had been members of the social elite at one time.

His friendship with Hermione was built on lies. She was supposed to be his enemy.

He had been lied to all his life.

He didn't have a bloody clue who he was anymore; his entire life was an enigma.

By the time his fifth year at Hogwarts ended Draco and Hermione had grown apart; the catalyst of which being Draco's reluctance to never again associate with anything or anyone who reminded him of the deceptions he had suffered.

That made Hermione cry. And shout. And hex him. She was hurt and confused, and deep down Draco didn't want to do this, cut her out of his life. But he needed to. Just looking at her reminded him of the old him. The _fake_ him. She was supposed to be his enemy anyway. Purebloods and Muggleborns, especially a Slytherin and a Gryffindor, weren't supposed to be friends… were they?

* * *

The biggest news over summer was that Voldemort had once again, risen to power. Draco saw in that, a golden opportunity to prove himself to anyone who lied to him, doubted him or cast him aside.

Karma had a habit of taking a painfully long time to exact it's punishments, so Draco thought it best to take it upon himself and speed the process up. His first self-appointed task was to naturally, attend to his so-called 'parents'.

There was no way he could bring himself to physically hurt them or use an Unforgiveable (they did raise him for eleven years, after all) but he didn't want anything to do with them again; both of his _real_ parents had escaped during the breakout of Azkaban. With a numb heart, he erased the memories of the Muggle substitutes. It was painfully tempting to _obliviate _his own memories of them, but Draco didn't want to take the risk. What if he accidentally erased the only happy memories he had; memories of Hermione?

When that was done, Draco's next task was show those Slytherin bastards back at school what he was really made of, and what better way to do this than to join the Dark Lord? He would show everyone how powerful he was. He'd show them that he was not to be underestimated now that he knew of his true parentage, now that he was a Malfoy…

If only it were that simple. Selling your soul to the devil was apparently an eternally binding contract, and after being drunk on the idea of revenge for so long, Draco only sobered when he had the Dark Mark painfully branded onto his skin. In the presence of the adult Death Eaters he felt like a lost little boy who just wanted to hide behind is parents for protection.

Lucius' wife tried to step forwards to console Draco but Lucius wouldn't allow her for fear that they would be killed by the inhuman deity he and the other hooded figures served with fearful mysticism. All Narcissa could do was stare with immense sorrow at her once happy and mischievous little boy. She wondered how on earth this had ever happened when she did everything in her power to prevent it.

Draco made eye contact with the woman he should have been calling 'mum' all these years - a woman who had abandoned him to protect him - and suddenly it was all too real, and he wanted nothing more than to back out and return to being the lonely, naïve verbal punching bag for Slytherin house.

But it was too late.

* * *

Draco and Hermione grew further apart from each other still when they returned to Hogwarts, and he distanced himself even more from the Slytherins (though this time it was by choice), opting to skulk through the solitary corridors late at night than sit in the unwelcome presence of his classmates. The insomnia took its toll on him; his skin turned sallow and dark bags framed his glazed over slate-grey eyes that were once sparkling and silver like he was some kind of zombie from those Muggle films he watched as a child. A child who was gone now.

The weight of his new allegiance was too much to handle sometimes, and Draco would often break down into tears. It was painfully ironic that he now felt weaker than he ever did in his early years at the school.

It broke Draco's heart that his choices had caused Hermione to grow even closer to the other Gryffindors, and consequently get her heart broken on a daily basis as she yearned after an oblivious Ron Weasley.

Despite the basis of their friendship being complete lies, Draco couldn't help but care about her still, perhaps more than he had ever cared about anyone. She hadn't done anything wrong, but now that he knew the truth he couldn't help but look down on her for being a Muggleborn. It was hypocritical of him to do so when he understood exactly what it was like to be on Hermione's end of the spectrum, but that's what a summer spent with the darkest wizard of all time could do to a person. It chipped away at your ability to sympathise. It filled your heart with bitterness and hatred and wore away the person you once were. Except in Draco's case, he never really did know who he was.

The young man's heart twisted uncomfortably when he saw her crying and alone on the steps during one of his late-night walks. He could only wish that this witch didn't affect him like this. As a Death Eater, his job was to hurt her and hate her. But he couldn't.

Sighing, he walked over and sat down beside her.

"Cheer up and dry those damp eyes," he echoed what he said to her the day they became friends on the train to Hogwarts in their first year and handed her a handkerchief. Only this time his voice was void of emotion and drawling; very much unlike it had been when he was eleven.

"What do you want?" Hermione snarled. "I wouldn't want you to catch Mudblood germs or anything."

Draco couldn't bring himself to be angry at her comment. "You were right," he sniffed, suddenly feeling tears prick his eyes. "They changed me, and I let them."

Hermione's hard expression wavered slightly but she didn't say anything. She dabbed her eyes and passed the handkerchief back, allowing Draco to do the same.

"You don't have to keep letting them," Hermione said after a long pause. "I'm sorry Draco, about letting you find out about your real parentage alone. I should have gone with you that day when you asked me about the picture-."

"How do you know about that?"

Hermione looked at the floor. "I um, asked Professor Snape before summer. I was worried about you. I knew you must have found something out because all of a sudden you started avoiding me like I had Dragonpox or something."

"Why are you being so sympathetic with me?" Draco asked. "I'm a bad person. I make bad choices."

Hermione smiled weakly. "I don't know. I just remember how close we were in our early school years, I suppose."

A long pause stretched between them. Draco hated that she was being so compassionate when he had hurt her so much; effectively crushing any trust they once shared into nothing.

"Weasley doesn't deserve you, you know?" Draco said.

"How do you know-?"

"You'd have to be a moron not to notice how you look at him. If he can't see it then you're better off without him."

Hermione wiped her eyes with her hand. "Why do you care? I can't even remember the last time we had a proper conversation."

"I just do, Hermione. More than you can imagine. No matter what's happened between us, I can't stop caring about you."

"But Draco, you were one of my best friends, and you suddenly just… stopped talking to me, started blanking me like I was nothing to you. You _can't_ care about me." Her voice was rising.

"I'm sorry Hermione. Truly I am. It was really crap of me to treat you differently just because I found out who I really am, but I was just so angry at all of the lies I've been living behind all my life."

They regarded each other with locked eyes. Silence stretched between them, signifying a few unspoken seconds of mutual understanding and sad wonderings of what could have been but could never be.

Neither of them knew who moved first, but Draco and Hermione both felt themselves leaning towards each other, both caught up in a vulnerable and melancholic reverie. As soon as their lips touched, Draco felt something he hadn't felt since the last time he and Hermione were together: inner peace and happiness… _true _happiness. Draco felt like he was floating; completely detached from any stress that he had carried around for so long. He could only liken it to what his yogi Muggle parents had described meditation to feel like, only better. A million times better.

Hermione's lips were soft and damp from her tears but Draco didn't care. He needed this; one moment of being with Hermione how he always subconsciously wanted to be; one moment of sanity and happiness before reality came crashing down again.

Draco's bliss was tainted too soon when he realised how taboo this was. A War was coming, and he and Hermione would be fighting on different sides. That thought killed him a little bit more inside, and he pushed her away, holding her at arm's length.

"Hermione," Draco swallowed but his throat was dry. "I… this can't happen."

His one-time best friend frowned, casting a shadow over her glossy brown eyes. "Oh is this the part where you just walk away because you just kissed a Muggleborn?" She chewed her lip to stop herself from crying again.

"Of course not," Draco said, cupping her cheeks in his hands. "I'd never want to do that to you again, but," he sighed. "Well, I have to walk away. This isn't a choice anymore."

Hermione briefly stroked his hands with her fingers before pushing him off. "What are you talking about?"

"I made bad decisions," he repeated. "I… I was angry and stupid." He pulled up his left sleeve to reveal the grotesque Mark.

Hermione gasped and she actually flinched away from him. Draco bit on the inside of his cheek hard to stop himself from reacting.

"I _have_ to join him, Hermione," Draco's vision became blurred.

"But you don't want to," Hermione said shakily. "I can tell. I can help you Draco. The Order can keep you safe."

Draco shook his head. "I paved my path. Now I must walk it."

"But you'll be killed," Hermione protested. "We are supposed to support each other. I can't let you walk away from me again."

The familiar words rang in Draco's head painfully. "I have no choice," he whispered.

Hermione's shoulders dropped. "You'll be killed," she repeated, looking at the floor.

He tilted her chin up with his finger so she'd look at him. "And really, what is the meaning of life without you? Merlin Hermione, even when I stopped talking to you I could never stop thinking about you. I couldn't let you go in here," he said, pointing to his chest. "I'm sorry."

He kissed her on the cheek and left her alone on the steps, hurt and confused once again. She called after him but he didn't look back. If he did then he knew he wouldn't bring himself to leave her again. If he stayed with her – with the Order – then he was endangering more lives than just his own. He had to leave.

* * *

Sitting in the Manor he should have grown up in some months later, Draco fumbled in his pocket with shaking fingers and withdrew several shrunken down pieces of parchment – letters from Hermione that she had sent to him before sixth year ended after he refused to speak to her again.

After what he had almost done, Draco knew that there was no way she would ever want to talk to him if they ever crossed paths. He may not have killed Dumbledore, but Harry Potter knew he was there, ready to do it. Potter would have told Hermione, and she would hate Draco as a result.

It was probably for the best, but he could never let that thought pray on his mind for too long. It hurt too much. Still, as Draco scanned the contents of the letters, one sentence stood out bolder than the rest.

'_I'm really worried about you…'_

A lump formed in Draco's throat. It may have been sent many months ago but the feeling was entirely reciprocated in the dark, present times. He took a deep breath and pressed the parchment to his lips in the vain hope it could somehow reach Hermione and recreate that weightless sensation he had felt when they kissed. It never did work, but nonetheless it gave Draco immense comfort to carry the letters around with him at all times in the chest pocket of his clothes.

There were times when Draco would look at the serpentine being he was to call 'master' and realise how similar they were. The Dark Lord too, sought vengeance after discovering his true heritage, and he too, chose to walk a path of darkness and lost himself in the process.

But then Draco would witness the death of his old Muggle Studies professor and realise that it could have easily been Hermione lying dead on his family's dining room table. That image didn't even bear thinking about. He would realise that he and Voldemort were nothing alike when he remembered the letters that sat just over his heart.

If there was one thing seventeen year-old Draco knew about himself, it was that he still had the capacity to love.

_The End._

* * *

**A/N: **I really don't know what happened... I'm not too sure about how well this turned out but it was a fun idea to explore.

Thank you for reading; I'd love to hear your thoughts! :)


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